


Be Mine (or We Will Burn)

by Wolf_of_Lilacs



Series: femHarrymort/Tomarry [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Female Harry Potter, Female Tom Riddle, Nebulous Made Up Matriarchal Religion, Obsession, Religious Guilt, really this couldn't get any vaguer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 06:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18654754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/Wolf_of_Lilacs
Summary: Mary Riddlewillhave that lovely dancer in the square, no matter how wrong it may be.





	Be Mine (or We Will Burn)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skittykitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittykitty/gifts).



> Fill for a prompt by the lovely Sketch.

“I am not to be disturbed.”

The girl with the tray of mid-afternoon tea stumbled back, her face going red. “Yes, mother Riddle,” she stammered. “I’ll tell the others—”

“See that you do.” Mary found her place in the text and ignored the hard bread and brackish water at her elbow. She would rather go hungry than to eat that tripe. But appearances must be maintained.

Ah, peace. Blessed peace. “O Mother, full of Grace, bless me with thy wisdom.”

There was raucous music in the square—lutes and drums and the sound of tapping feet. Mary set her prayer book aside and wrenched open a shutter to peer out, so as to pinpoint the source of this disturbance.

What shamelessness! What debauchery! For several young women danced about, all of them wearing skirts that cut off above the knee, exposing long, bare legs.

How dare they! Mary turned from the window and stormed outside, determined to put a stop to this sort of sin near _her_ church.

She pushed her way through the crowd, most of whom didn’t take any notice. They threw coins and flowers at the dancers’ feet, applauding and calling out lewd encouragements that Mary did her best to tune out. Base, the lot of them.

The reprimand was on her lips— And then she stopped, her gaze fixed.

The dancer in the very center of the group is wild—wilder than the rest. She spun and jumped, her dark hair in tangles, her skirts flaring high. Her flushed face, her green eyes, her bronzed skin…

Mary could only watch, her jaw slack.

She did not halt the reveille. Nay, she fished in her pocket for a coin or anything at all, but came up with nothing but a crust of bread. She held it in her palm, eyes darting from the girl to the other dancers and back again.

She kept the bread. It could be seen as disrespect.

(No, you fool. You are called upon to discourage such unsightly, ungodly, behavior. End this.)

She watched and watched until her eyes were sore and her ears rang with the crowd’s enthusiasm.

“Mother, what are you doing out here?” A timid voice behind her, a feather-light tap on her shoulder.

Ah, that damned alter girl. “I must know our enemies,” she replied shortly. “Now get back to your post.”

More flowers. An outrageous finale of twirling and jumping, the green-eyed beauty leaping high and being caught by a tall dancer behind her.

“And that’s our show, folks. Thank you for your generosity.” The crowd blew kisses.

“Halt, now!” Mary finally got over her strange, devilish distraction and stalked through the now quietened gathering. “What is this? Disband this little group of yours immediately!”

The green-eyed beauty gazed back at her steadily, and Mary found her breath coming short, and a throbbing in that place of greatest impurity…

“Get out, before I have the constable set on you.”

“As you wish.” She led her girls away, throwing smiles over her shoulder at the disappointed crowd.

And that was that, Mary decided.

*

She could not concentrate. The memory of the dancer kept assaulting her peaceable meditation, causing that impure heat and sweat to break out in the crevices beneath her arms and at the junction of her thighs. Her heart pounded and she needed to…

Damn that horrible, horrible girl.

Mary’s fingers were wet with her spit as she unfastened her robes. The shame made her hot, the arousal made her burn.

“Take this from me!” she prayed and prayed, the hard floor of her bedchamber making her knees ache. But there was no answer, only the wind in the chinks of the old walls and the stirrings of the town—birds, street sweepers, a yowling cat.

Where was her green-eyed girl now? And where was an answer?

“If you will not take it, then I shall take her.” Really, what was the harm? No one ever had to know. She could keep the girl secretly, keep her away from the public’s unworthy eyes, hide her away with her own shame.

Her flock would still be hers.

She put on a quick disguise—trousers, a cloak with a hood in which to tuck her hair—and went out into the early evening. The dancers were not difficult to find, partying in the tavern, drinking like men.

“Drink up, my dears,” her beauty encouraged. “They’ve been generous here.” These words were met with cheers.

Mary crept up behind her beauty and hissed, “Walk with me.”

She glanced up, blinked. “I can’t leave the celebration. I’m not abandoning my girls to fend for themselves.” Then her eyes slid away, as if Mary were of no importance whatsoever.

“Then I can give you no choice.” Mary whistled, and the constable came in. “You are all under arrest,” he announced, sending his deputies to gather up the dancers.

“Oh, this is interesting.”

“Abigail, what do we do?”

Abigail, what a lovely name. Mary mouthed it to herself, tasting the syllables, the stateliness of it.

Abigail went quietly. “I’m used to it,” she said, quite relaxed. Her girls all saluted by nodding vigorously, for their hands were tied.

*

_“What sort of fiend are you, sent to torment me?” Mary hissed, standing outside the cell in the church’s attic where she’d had them move the ringleader, away from her girls._

_Verdant eyes studied her in distaste and…was it pity? Mary gritted her teeth. “You are to blame for this!” And with that, she forced her way into the small space and grasped her beauty about the throat, pressing her lips against hers._

_Abigail tried to push her off, but her hands were still bound, and there was little she could do. Mary took as she pleased, and found it quite to her satisfaction. Abigail tasted of ale and something sweet, something unfamiliar._

_Ah, how cruel was this temptress. Mine mine mine, she thought. Never another’s. Never will you go._

_Abigail’s lips did not move in response. She kept them firmly closed. Mary abandoned this sort of kissing to trail her tongue, her teeth to the skin of Abigail’s throat, her chest. All hers._

_Wrong, so very wrong. She stood abruptly, backing as far away as she could get. Abigail watched her, unamused._

It was only a dream. Mary woke, tangled in her sheets, her sex wet with her impurity. She dug her fingers into her blankets, twisting them about, enraged and still so…

Hungry.

*

“The prisoners have escaped, Mother.” Mary started from her morning prayers.

“What do you mean, ‘escaped’,” she snapped.

“All of them. All the dancers, even the prisoners that have been there for weeks. The entire place is empty.” The errand boy looked at his scuffed shoes, hoping for a penny for his work.

“Get out of my sight.” He scampered off. No one dared cross her.

She prowled from one end of the gallery to the other, spitting. She would find her, would find her at all costs and keep her.

“Search the town!” she ordered the constable.

“They’ve gone on,” he protested. “We can’t—”

“Find them!” she shrieked. “Find them, or this place will be reduced to exactly what it deserves to be.” If she could not have Abigail, then no one ever would.

She remembered the taunting in those terrible, terrible eyes.

“You have no one but yourself to blame, my beauty,” she whispered as she slunk to the edge of town in her usual disguise, matches and oil in hand. Let it burn, as she did.

“Do you want to join us, since you’re so set on following us?” That voice. She started, dropping her supplies with a curse.

There she was. Was she there? This wasn’t another dream? “Go with you?”

“You wouldn’t be the first priest we’ve dragged along,” Abigail said, coming closer, casual as you please.

“Temptress,” Mary spat. “Get away from me. Or stay. Run, as fast as you can, or I will never let you go.” Like her own little songbird. She could clip her wings, hide her away, perhaps even disguise her as one of the alter girls. No need to burn.

Or she could go with them, live in debauchery. Make Abigail yearn for her as surely as Mary wanted her in turn.

It was not a difficult choice, in the end. She scooped up her supplies, lit a match, and threw it on a stack of lumber behind her. She would not miss this place. “Let’s go, then, quickly.”

Abigail snorted. The others smiled. “Let’s go,” Abigail agreed.


End file.
